Burden of Memory by Vicki Delany Read Free Book Online Page A

The man behind the counter looked up from his ledger and grinned. The smile split his face in two and for the first time she understood the saying “from ear to ear.” He was well past middle aged, almost old, heavily wrinkled, back stooped, a few thin strands of greasy gray hair stretched across his shiny head. His eyes were red and watery but nothing could hide the sparkle of delight that lit up his face at the sight of her.
    “Welcome, welcome,” he beamed. “Ladies, we are so happy to see you here. Betty, Betty. Come see who’s here.”
    Moira looked over her shoulder to see who might have followed her in, but it was only Jean, who had tagged along, uninvited.
    An elderly woman bustled out of the back of the shop, wiping her hands on a faded apron. She also broke into a huge smile at the sight of the customers and nodded with enthusiasm.
    “I’m Bert, and this is my wife Betty,” the man said. “What can we do for you lovely ladies today?”
    “Nothing in particular,” Moira said, almost lost for words under the force of the welcome. “We thought we would see if you have a few candies—sweets—for sale. We’re from the Canadian Army Hospital, you see.”
    “Of course, of course,” Burt said. “And more than welcome all you Canadians are.”
    At last Moira understood. It was neither she nor Jean that the old couple were so happy to see, but Canadians. Any Canadians, and probably any foreigners, would do.
    Someone had made an attempt to make the shelves look full, although they didn’t have much to work with and hadn’t had a great deal of success. What Bert and Betty offered for sale were mostly dry goods and tins, and precious few of those. But Burt smiled a sly smile and reached under the counter to come up with a bag of humbugs. Plump and brown with white stripes. “For my Canadian friends.” He held up the bag as if it were an offering to the god of peace.
    “But shush.” Betty touched her lips with one finger. They were suffering from no shortage of lipstick: Betty’s mouth carved a dark red slash across her face. The edges of the stick had missed the outline of her lips by a wide margin. Thick pale face powder accented the crevices in her face and the deep lines around her mouth. Moira chastised herself for being nasty and tried to pay attention and smile at the woman.
    “We mustn’t let the word out that we have such delights.”
    “Indeed not,” said Burt. “Or they’ll be banging down the doors. Now, is there anything else I can get for you lovely young ladies?”
    “Cigarettes?” Jean said, to Moira’s surprise. She had never seen the bold, friendly Sister smoke. The only American among their group, Jean, with the flat tones and hearty manner of a Wisconsin native, had come to Canada to join the effort almost as soon as war broke out in Europe. Her family, so she told them all, had been simply horrified. But Jean knew that she had to go—she was a nurse, and the Army needed nurses.
    “Only for you, my sweet,” Burt beamed, displaying two rows of rotten and missing teeth. He disappeared under the counter once again.
    A girl bustled into the shop through the back door. She was in her early teens, horribly plain but with enormous, delicate eyes an unusual shade of green. They were the color of an olive dropped into a crystal clear martini, and went a long way to soften the effect of her sharp face, thin lips, and much too long nose. Those pretty eyes and a ripening figure scarcely contained beneath her stiff print dress.
    “And here’s our beauty.” Burt beamed, grabbing the girl in a hug that her posture indicated was not at all welcome. “This is our daughter, Catherine.”
    Betty smiled as proudly as her husband. The menopausal offspring of an ageing couple. A blessing for the parents. A curse at times for the child.
    Catherine shrugged her father’s arms aside. “I’m off to Millie’s, Dad.”
    “Be back in time for tea,” Betty trilled as the girl slammed the door